


will & grace (strangelove remix)

by icemachine



Category: Will & Grace
Genre: Canon Rewrite, M/M, Slow Burn, mlm author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: Will Truman has many talents (unlike Jack), but ignoring is his best.(A rewrite of Will & Grace that has Jack and Will actually get together.  I have too much free time.)





	1. pilot

**Author's Note:**

> me: man, i wish i could rewrite will and grace so jack and will actually get together  
> me, 5 seconds later, remembering i am a writer: wait,
> 
> notes: this is told from the pov of will and jack, so some scenes from the show will not exist here. each chapter is one episode and the chapter title corresponds to the title of the episode that's being rewritten.
> 
> no set update schedule, i'm a busy dude
> 
> special thanks to [this website](http://www.durfee.net/will/episodes.htm) for making this rewrite possible with its transcripts, and special fuck you to hulu's 90 second commercials after every scene. 
> 
> if you want to talk about this or anything in general with me, hmu on [tumblr!](http://mccoywhitman.tumblr.com)!

“Hey, Will. I have good news,” Jack says, voice slightly muffled and scratchy through the phone, and Will  _ braces himself  _ for it; with Jack, good news is never  _ just  _ good news. He is not capable of searching for a definition of true good news. 

 

Usually, it is neither “good” nor “news”. There is always some twist of the strange or the immoral—and there is  _ always  _ the added sprinkle of gay in his good news, the pinch of rainbow in the recipe. The last time Jack told him he had “good news”, he was actually calling to tell Will that he had finally managed to perform a seemingly impossible contortion for a sex position, and—well. You can imagine how much Will wanted to know  _ that.  _

 

(Though he is, certainly, talented. It’s not as if Will thinks about it; it’s something Jack brags about, daily,  _ look at who I slept with, guess what I did.  _ It might be the only talent Jack has.)

 

(Okay, well. That, and being annoying. That, and making Will’s inexplicable softness deepen continually, and making Will  _ flourish  _ against his wishes. They are opposites, in every sense, in every fiber and flesh, and the only way they can touch---the only similarity between them, it seems---is being gay. Their sexuality, bonding them together, conjoining them like they were singular beings, once, that just can’t figure out how to part quite right.

 

Will, however, keeps him around. For some reason. He’s good entertainment, he’s good company, he’s outspoken and talkative, he’s a good listener, he can carry a conversation like a hard weight on his back. They’ve been like this for over a decade, they have their obscure arrangement. Jack was the cornerstone in Will’s life, his  _ everything,  _ once upon a time. Maybe he still is a cornerstone, maybe. It is - odd to think about, so he doesn’t.) 

 

“Wanna hear?” he asks; when Jack is excited, his voice squeaks, and his voice is squeaking now, an adorable, pitiful amount. Jack’s voice alone could stop the world’s turn.

 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” Will asks, still in the metaphorical _brace-for-impact._ The impact: Jack’s words, Jack’s voice, whatever Jack has to say _now._ He is always talking, never stopping to consider Will or anything that Will desires; it should not be dignifying. Sometimes, he thinks that Jack can find a calm state, and is immediately reminded of the harsh realities they live in. 

 

“I’m going to be staying with you until my apartment’s flooring gets finished. Yay! It’ll be so fun! I can wear your bathrobe and paint your nails and we can talk about boys—”

 

“Jack, are you even capable of asking for permission, or do you just—you know what, I don’t even have to ask that question.”

 

“Rude, hateful, mean. Come on, Will. I miss you.”

 

“We saw each other like five hours ago.”

 

“So?” 

 

Will sighs, his chest moving through the cycle of up and down. He wants to be annoyed, wishes he could feel anything other than fondness in this moment. Jack is always doing this, always being so unbearably endearing in his flaws (and he has several flaws,  _ several. _ ). It’s easy for Will to think of him as simple, but he is complex and intricate, perhaps to an intolerable amount. Will cannot tolerate Jack, but does anyway. He should get an award, a big, shining trophy that says something along the lines of:

 

_ WILL TRUMAN, NUMBER ONE BEGRUDGED TOLERATOR OF JACK MCFARLAND.  _ For the man who always finds home in his best friend, even when his words have their own teeth.

 

“Fine, fine,” Will says. Some part of his muscles work up the courage and  _ dare  _ to smile.  “When?”

 

“Um… tomorrow.”

 

“Jack—”

 

“Hey! You know you love me.”

 

“I do love you,” Will says; he does not know the exact truth of the statement, and instead stretches himself over the couch, exhausted,  “which is why I am going to hang up now so I do not lose my mind over how annoying you are sometimes.”

 

It is framed as a lie. They both know it. The dynamic: Will calls Jack annoying, Will expresses his love for Jack, Will calls Jack annoying, their friendship fights on.

 

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” He can hear Jack blow a kiss into the phone, ignores it. The gesture is disgusting, even if it is a typical Jack action. Typical Jack, typical Jack, it is so  _ typical  _ of him to be flamboyant, and open, and unapologetic. “Why, thank you, Will.” A false laugh, and a real laugh. “Bye-bye. See you tomorrow, at nine. Is that good for you? Great, great, okay. That’s all for tonight, folks.”

 

There is too much silence, as Will lowers the phone to his chest. It is sickening, the silence; Will, for some reason, wishes he could call Jack back again, continue their earlier conversation about whether or not aliens are hot (Jack says yes, Will says no, Jack says _you can’t really be picky, look at you,_ Will says _you’re a geek,_ Will rustles his hair _)_ and when his eyes flutter closed and his mind flutters a constant dance over mere thoughts of Jack & Jack’s voice & Jack’s presence & Jack & Jack & Jack—

 

it is ignored. 

 

Will Truman has many talents (unlike Jack), but ignoring is his best. He has always been so adept at ignoring. He is in the highest caliber of people who shut off and repress certain feelings. He should get an award, another big, shining trophy, just for his ability to pretend that certain situations do not exist. For instance: right now he is ignoring the dreadful thought of Michael, ignoring the knowledge of a past love that  _ truly  _ fought on.

 

* * *

 

 

It is 8:00 PM,  _ sharp,  _ and Grace is going to miss the newest episode of ER. Most likely she is sleeping with Danny—in either sense of the word, but she should be here. She should be with  _ Will,  _ not Danny, but—

 

She should be with Will. Not Danny. She should not be with Danny. That is the problem; she deserves so,  _ so  _ much more than that man. Grace Adler is---not perfect, but in Will’s eyes, the closest to it that anyone can grasp. She has her faults, but: she is  _ angelic.  _ Grace is  _ graceful,  _ and her boyfriend does not even compare, could never compare, could never reach the height that Grace is on.

 

So: he picks up the phone, dials her number in, thinks of a way to avoid his feelings about her boyfriend. Last time he—

 

That doesn’t mean anything, though, does it? She’s not going to marry him. He cannot see her ever wanting to marry Danny, can’t seem to find the possibility of Grace wanting some sort of family and concrete future with him. They’ve been living together for over a year, but: he knows Grace. He does.

 

The sound of Grace’s breathing, her laughter. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” he says back, wonders if she can tell that he’s smiling, even in their distance. ‘What are you doing?”

 

“Hanging out,” she responds; clearly it is code for  _ I just had amazing, mindblowing sex with Danny,  _ which - ew. Good for her, but, again: gross. He knows Grace, knows her codes and cracks and tells. It’s easy, when you’ve known and loved her for so long.

 

“Come over?” he offers, allowing his hopes to slowly rise. She can’t miss ER, she can’t. It is only about the show, and nothing else.

 

“Will,” she says, a slight pang of distress. “I can’t.”

 

“Come on, Grace, you  _ know  _ you want to,” Will taunts, sickened; his feelings are only about the show, and nothing else. Who else would listen and respond as he makes comments about how unfairly  _ hot  _ George Clooney is? Who else would agree? Jack? Oh, God.  _ No. _

He might ( _ would _ ) (definitely) agree, might (would) (definitely) make his usual sex-infused  _ comments.  _ It’s not the same. Jack is one of the most important people in Will’s life, has his fingernails trapped in the walls of Will’s heart (just like Grace, just like—) but he is not about to call Jack and morph him into a gay version of Grace Adler.

 

There’s something different about their relationship; perhaps, one day, he will be able to pin it down with words.

 

“ _ Of course  _ I want to, but—”

 

“It’s going to be a good one.” Will hopes  _ desperately  _ that Grace cannot hear the exhaustion in his voice. Something about managing a twenty-nine year old child and your feelings of faint-disgust about your straight best friend’s boyfriend… is tiring. Who knew. “I can feel it.”

 

“It’s always good,” Grace says, her voice tilting into a laugh, “but still—”

 

“Okay, if you’re not going to come over, want me to, ah, talk you through it?”

 

“Tempting, tempting… but I think I’ll watch ER here.”

 

Will sighs, feels his body unwind. “Another night alone with my clicker,” he says, and secretly applauds himself for the unintentional innuendo. Jack would be proud.

 

(There it is again. Can he  _ ever  _ rest?)

 

“Is that what the kids are calling it?” Grace says, now a full giggle. “Anyway, I went back to the sale today.”

 

He whistles. “Yeah? Did you get that black flowy thing?”

 

“Nah, you were right, it’s too Stevie Nicks.”

 

“Told you. Did you buy anything?”

 

“I got a great camisole.”

 

“Sexy?”

 

& there’s the indistinct, low sound of a male voice next to her.  _ Goodnight.  _

 

“Ask me in the morning.”

 

“Was that—”

 

“Yeah, are you jealous?”

 

Disgusting. “Honey,” he says proudly, “I don’t need your man. I have George Clooney.”

 

_ Who is infinitely better,  _ he adds, silently, in the depths of his mind.

 

“He doesn’t bat for your team.”

 

_ I could bat something,  _ Will thinks, about Danny, and then: _ Wait. Someone. No. Nevermind. Bad choice of words. Awful, awful choice of words. _

 

“He hasn’t seen me pitch.”

 

“I’m sure he’s seen you pitch. Several times. In the middle of the night.”

 

“Oh, would you shut up?”

 

“I’m not wrong.”

 

“No,” Will sighs, “you’re not, but I have this weird fear that if I admit to that out loud, somewhere he’ll hear me and feel weird.”

 

“We all have our crushes,” she says wistfully. 

 

“Yeah,” Will says; it is quick, utterly too brief, he needs to change the subject  _ fast,  _ but why? “So,  _ anyway,  _ Jack called about an hour ago and told me he was staying with me. He didn’t ask, he just… said he was staying with me until his apartment’s floors are finished.”

 

“Come on, are you really surprised? He’s attached to you like—like, uh—like—something that attaches to something else.” A exasperated gasp. “I will think of a better metaphor.”

 

“No, I’m not surprised about that,” Will admits. “I know he is, I  _ know _ . Mostly, what I’m surprised about is the fact that he still  _ has  _ an apartment.”

 

“Are you sure he actually still has it?”

 

“What, you think he said that just ‘cause he’s homeless and needs a place to stay?”

 

“Um.”

 

“I doubt it. I can tell when he’s lying.”

 

“You really like to talk about him, don’t you?”

 

A pause. “Well, yeah, because he gets on my nerves so much. You’re the only one who understands it.” 

 

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, I’m going to bed.”

 

“Goodnight, Gracie,” he says, and finds himself in a strikingly familiar position: sitting down, with an empty phone pressed to his chest, thinking about  _ Jack. _

 

What - the  _ hell -  _ does “you really like to talk about him” mean? What is the implication there? What could Grace possibly have meant by that? He shudders at the possibilities; he talks about Jack because Jack “gets on his nerves”, and because—

 

he talks about Jack, because—

 

because getting validated by others is a wonderful feeling, when your emotions are so inconsistent. Jack represents the epitome of cognitive dissonance, for Will, and he still cannot put his finger on precision. 

 

Well. He fixes his eyes on the television, and focuses on George Clooney; his mind falls far away from the statement and their conversation, instead building its own acceptable,  _ safe  _ dreams.

 

* * *

 

There is one constant with Jack McFarland: he always knows how to make an entrance. 

 

He opens the door to Will’s apartment; it slams as it hits his wall, and Jack comes pouring through, strutting in like this is  _ his  _ home and he has claimed it. “Hello, Will.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to slam my door?” Will asks, but he’s approaching Jack with a wide smile. Jack is dressed surprisingly desolate; a navy turtleneck with a black jacket tied around his shoulders—

 

A navy turtleneck. 

 

It looks eerily familiar.

 

“Weird,” he says, shutting the door gently. “I have a sweater just like that.”

 

“Yeah, I know, this is yours.” He throws the words around so  _ carelessly  _ that Will can feel some sort of rage start to froth in him deeply—

Jack coming to his apartment is fine, encouraged, understandable. His home is Jack’s home, it is a part of their lives now, he is used to Jack’s presence in his personal, private spaces. It shouldn’t be so surprising, and it definitely should not be so upsetting; Jack steals his clothing, Jack steals his food, Jack would take his damn kidney if he needed it (and Will would let him, but—). It is, again, just part of their lives now, a daily occurrence.

 

Why is this time different? 

 

Is it because of what Grace said?

 

No. No,  _ no.  _ Will Truman is proficient in ignoring.

 

Finally, he says: “Of course it is. Just - of course. You know, I’d yell at you for it, if I thought it’d make you stop taking my stuff.”

 

“What’s got you so upset?” Jack asks.

 

“I’m not upset.”

 

“Really? I beg to differ. Just, look at your body language. Your arms are crossed, your jaw is clenched… what’s bothering you?”

 

The fact that Jack is being so observant today bothers him; he hadn’t noticed how tight and tense his body is. Will tries to unfold himself, force himself open, lets his arms rest at his sides. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Yesterday was weird. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

 

“It’s fine. I get it! You looked in the mirror. It’s okay, we all do it sometimes, and I can help you feel better about yourself if you’d just let me cut your hair.”

 

“Never happening.”

 

Jack pouts. “Okay. Where’s everyone else?”

 

“You’re the first one here,” Will tells him. “You always are.”

 

_ You always are.  _ The statement does not leave the atmosphere quickly, or warmly—something about the truth of it is threatening, makes both of them shift. You always are. You are always the first.

 

“Very well,” Jack says. “Can I just—”

 

“Go ahead, you know whatever I have is yours,” Will says. Instantly, he knows what Jack wants. He always knows what Jack wants. “It’s not like I can stop you from raiding my fridge, anyway.”

 

“Glad you understand that,” Jack says. He races to the kitchen, adding a comfortable distance between them; Will is safe now. He is safe. He doesn’t have to entertain any thoughts about Grace’s comment. Everything is fine.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Jack has been singing continually for the past ten minutes, barely stopping for breath. They’re supposed to be playing poker, he thinks, this isn’t a  _ concert— _ Will does not say that out loud. He knows that the others feel similarly, but somehow, for some reason, in this moment, he doesn’t feel compelled to yell.

 

“It’s to you, Jack.”

 

“Give me a  _ minute,  _ please. Okay?”

 

& Jack continues his slanted singing, top of the lungs, he always does this. In front of Will and his friends. He has no shame—

 

That is, usually, what he loves most about Jack. He has been crushed by the outside world, yet still remains unique and unapologetic. He exists, embraces himself without fear.

 

Will admires him, wants to wrap himself in that kind of confidence, but the moment has passed and now he feels a strong pull of annoyance.

 

“ _ It’s to you, Jack. _ ”

 

_ Give me a minute, please. Can you believe this guy?  _ He does have a beautiful singing voice, partially angelic and partially seasoned with an unhealthy amount of practice. Regardless: he does enjoy hearing Jack sing, just not at poker games with surrounded by the complex and intimidating species of  _ straight men.  _

 

“Not going to risk it, this time,” Jack says. ‘Four cards, please, Here’s my ace.”

 

Will’s risk: “Hey, now that you’re moving in, can I make one small, tiny request?”

 

Jack looks at him, eyes innocently widened at the sight of Will. The stare makes Will feel nauseous. “Hm?”

 

“I’d like it if you… changed…  _ everything…  _ about your personality. Think you can do that?”

 

Jack looks at him, again; he cannot tell if the offended expression is true or just a joke. “Oh, I get it,” Jack smiles. Resilience. “Comedy. Will, you know jokes are supposed to be funny, right?”

 

The rest of the guys laugh. Will cannot tell what they’re laughing at, supposes that not knowing is the best possible outcome of the situation.

 

“You didn’t tell me Jack was moving in with you,” says a very confused Rob, who Will immediately pities. He can’t say  _ I don’t tell you these things on purpose because I like to keep Jack’s antics to myself---and Grace,  _ and he certainly cannot find a way to rephrase  _ I like to keep Jack to myself  _ into words that don’t sound damning.

 

Instead, he just says: “That’s because he’s not. He’s just staying with me until his apartment is finished.”

 

_ Mmm-mmm.  _ A contesting hum from across the table, which makes Will’s defenses rise pointedly and rapidly.

 

Jack doesn’t catch the implication. Of course he doesn’t. “Oh, I know that song! I do know it, I know—-um—”

 

“Jack, he’s not singing. He’s not playing along with you, that’s just a straight guy’s way of thinking you and I could ever be a couple.” Will makes his face twist in disgust, to show just how horrifying the thought is.

 

Jack mimics his disgust. He scoffs, his lips forming a lasting  _ O.  _ “Okay—okay—okay, listen. Just, listen. First of all, Will isn’t that lucky. So let’s just clear that right up, and let me put it out there that I would  _ never _ , not even if we were the last two people on Earth, sleep with Will,—-and—and second of all, we don’t know each other that well. Why would you just assume I’m gay, huh? Most people who meet me do not know I am gay.”

 

There’s a chorus of laughter. Will’s is the loudest.

 

“Jack,” he says, making his disbelief apparent. “ _ Jack,  _ blind and deaf people know you’re gay. Even  _ dead people  _ know you’re gay. Fetuses know you’re gay.”

 

“Are you finished?”

 

They’re about to start another round of verbal sparring, Will can feel it, when Grace opens the door, acting as his life’s savior. He doesn’t want to argue with Jack. Does he really think people can’t tell he’s gay?

 

And she looks upset.

 

“Grace?”

 

Jack makes a dumb comment about Grace’s appearance, but Will ignores him. He is drenched in concern.

 

“I’m fine,” she “assures” him, but Will knows her. “Keep playing.”

 

“You and Danny had a fight, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah, but, I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now, at least. I can’t even think straight.”

 

“Neither can Jack. You two make quite the pair.”

 

Jack shakes his head. Insensitively—his usual state—he asks, “Grace, did you know I was gay when you met me?”

 

“My dog knew,” she retorts as she exits the room; Will can feel his worries intensify, and Jack—

 

Jack only looks annoyed.

 

* * *

 

After kicking Jack out -  _ literally  _ kicking Jack out, because he cannot ever take a hint and wanted to hoard Will’s television  _ again  _ \- Will hesitantly allows Grace to help him take care of the post-poker-game madness that always strikes his apartment.

 

“So,” he says; maybe he can help Grace without letting his true feelings escape. “What happened between you and Danny?”

 

Her shoulders roll back. “Some of the fabrics I ordered didn’t come in, and I lost the job.”

 

& Will is about to say something comforting, the acceptable response—

 

but Grace is on a rant again. Good for her; perhaps she’ll realize the harsh reality of her boyfriend.

 

“I just wanted to hear an ‘I’m sorry’, but Danny looked and me and was all, ‘that’s what happens when you put everything off until the last minute’. And I lost it. I was screaming ‘ _ why can’t you let me have my feelings?’  _ but then he said _ — _ get  _ this— _ ’you know you don’t have to get hysterical, you sound just like your mother.’”

 

“Wow.”

  
“I know, right?”

 

“You’re staying here tonight,” Will says, a soft demand. He can help her, can ease her troubles, at least for one night. A lot of things can happen in one quivering, cold night. “Go wash your face. I’ll make your bed.”

 

“Okay, fine. I just… what kind of person says that to his girlfriend?”

 

As she walks away, Will whispers to himself:  _ a person you should’ve dumped a year ago.  _

 

“What?” calls Grace, and—oh—he’s—he needs to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself and remove his mind from Grace and Danny. It’s not his business. Grace is his best friend, so Grace is his business, but he can’t tell her to break up with Danny, not after—

 

A knock on the door. Oh no. Oh,  _ no;  _ Jack. Jack comes walking in with his bird and several bags, and Will feels a sharp, stabbing pain of guilt. He shouldn’t do this to Jack. He shouldn’t do this, but he has to.

 

“Jack, you can’t move in tonight.”

 

“What?”

 

“Grace is upset, I told her she could stay here tonight.”

 

“ _ Will. _ ” The way that Jack is looking at him now would make  _ any  _ man fluster and rattle; his face rings of dejection, his eyes half-close and then widen and move over Will’s body, an unreadable gaze. “Please.”

 

“I guess you can sleep on the couch,” Will says, caving. “But be quiet, and keep Guapo covered. I don’t need to hear him screeching in the middle of the night. Last time I saw him, he said ‘I love you, Will’, which was more than a little bit creepy.”

 

Jack looks briefly startled, but overcomes it. “Thanks-you’re-the-best,” he says, quickly. It’s going to be a difficult night, with Grace and Jack in his apartment at the same time. It is an  _ incredibly  _ bad idea, but: for a reason he cannot analyze, Will caved for Jack, folded entirely under his stare. 

 

Will isn’t - he’s not going to think about it. 

 

* * *

 

Jack can’t get to sleep. Perhaps it stems from the fact that Will’s couch is too small for his body, too uncomfortable as his legs hang off the end of it - it definitely is better than sleeping in the bed of a stranger, though, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, and he trusts Will, would do anything for Will, presses the neck of Will’s sweater into his face and searches for any faint trace of Will’s cologne and scent.

 

God, he’s disgusting. They both are.

 

He always ends up like this: in second place, the afterthought, the forgotten annoyance - and he’d be bothered by it if the perpetrator was anyone other than Will Truman, who melts him. This is not a story with a happy ending. This is not a story with even a thread of reciprocation in it, Jack knows that, so: why can’t he get to sleep? What keeps him awake, besides the thought of Will? 

 

He groans, twists himself around on the couch, searching for a comfortable position. He feels - demoted. On second thought: how can he be demoted from a position that  _ always  _ belonged to Grace? Even in the year that Will and Grace were separated, so long ago - he was  _ never  _ on that level.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t like Grace. It’s just that he doesn’t like Grace.

 

More groaning. He doesn’t even notice it, until the soft footsteps become apparent. “Jack, come  _ on. _ I’ve got a meeting with Harlin tomorrow morning. Quiet down.”

 

Will is standing in front of him, barely clothed. He is tired, rubbing desperately at his eyes, and his hair is sticking out in several unruly places. Jack focuses on the ceiling, avoids staring at Will & how he wishes he could—

 

“I would quiet down if I didn’t have to sleep on this awful thing,” he says. “It’s like sleeping on a pile of bricks… that have spikes glued onto them.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to be generous. You are more than welcome - encouraged, even - to call one of your boyfriends to pick you up. I’m sure that’d be a lot more fun for you, anyway.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Jack says quietly. It silences Will, who always assumes that he is a last resort when it comes to things like this. Will is entirely convinced that, at the end of the day, Jack will always ignore him for a boy he met on the street corner and took home to make the pain of rejection ease for as long as he possibly could. He’s right - it’s just easier that way.

 

“Oh,” Will says, a collapsing sigh. “I guess - I  _ guess -  _ you can sleep with me, then, if it’ll make you be quiet.” He pauses. “Let me just rephrase that: in my bed.”

 

“That’s still not better.”

 

“No,” Will agrees, “but you know what I mean. Just don’t be weird.”

 

“You better not be implying what I think you are.” Jack fake-shudders. “ _ Gross.  _ You know, Will, not everything has to be  _ gay. _ ”

 

Will’s forming smile turns into a yawn. “Oh, the irony. Come on.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He keeps himself entirely curled away, in Will’s bed, letting himself succumb to the depraved fear of what would happen if their skin touched, what Jack would  _ do.  _ He nearly falls onto the floor---Will is already asleep, though, so Jack contains himself. He thinks only of the morning, when everything will be over.

 

* * *

 

Harlin is always - something. Talking and explaining things to Harlin is always - something.

 

He’s going on about a company he wants to buy, rambling and rambling in that scratchy twang, and as Will assures him  _ I’ll handle it, I’ve been representing your corporation for five years now,  _ all he can think about is how  _ energized  _ he is, how upbeat he feels. He’s engaged in the conversation, considering everything that Harlin has to say, but he’s thinking about what he’s going to have for lunch, how Grace is doing, if Jack is letting his bird fly around at home - all at once, the thoughts melting together seamlessly.

 

He hasn’t had sleep like that in years—he slept perfectly, last night, peaceful and calm, but only after—

 

Harlin exits, and Grace’s voice is blasting through line one.

 

“Can I stay at your apartment again?” she asks; Will’s immediate thought is  _ there is absolutely no way Jack is going to sleep with me—in my bed, sleep in my bed, with me—again.  _ It’s a one-night only move, never to enter the stage after its completion.

 

But: it’s Grace.

 

“Of course, as long as you need to. What’s up?”

 

“I’m just… looking for some tissues and fabrics and trying not to lose my mind.”

 

“Can’t you have Karen get them for you?”

 

“She’s not here. Late, again.”

 

Will crosses his arms, shuts himself off. “Fire her already.”

 

“She’s  _ connected,  _ Will. That’s what keeps my business going.”

 

“I don’t get why she works. She’s worth—”

 

“---yeah, I know. She says working keeps her down to earth.” The sound of a slam, and a groan. “I gotta go. Call me later.”

 

“Bye.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


He needs to call Jack. He knows that he needs to call Jack, but some part of him---the encompassing part, the entire mind---feels the guilt pile up and tower.

 

He dials Jack’s number anyway. Fuck the guilt; he can’t explain its existence, so it doesn’t exist, Will Truman is good at ignoring. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, Jack, it’s me. Listen—”

 

“Oh, hello, roomie. How was your day, honey?”

 

_ Honey.  _ It’s sickening.

 

“It was okay, I guess. Listen, Jack—”

 

“I cleaned your closet out today.”

 

“You  _ what _ ?”

 

“Yeah, I did your laundry. See, I  _ can  _ be nice to you. I figured, now that we’re—”

 

“You can’t stay tonight.”

 

A gasp, and then: silence.

 

* * *

 

“He hasn’t seen Michael since the breakup, no,” Grace tells Ellen, her voice sounding strangely proud. “But I have. It’s awful, he’s not doing too well… bad haircut, depressed, only leaves the house in sweats, I mean—it’s sad.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Rob asks. “I saw him a week ago. He looks really good.”

 

“Thanks, Rob,” Grace snaps, “real helpful.”

 

“Thanks for trying, sweetie,” Will says. 

 

“Hey, his haircut really  _ was  _ bad.”

 

“Are you going to keep the apartment, Will?” Ellen asks, ignoring Rob’s interjection. “It’s nice.”

 

“It’s a little… expensive. I’m not sure.”

 

“Hm,” she hums. “Okay. Well, do you wanna play—”

 

“--- _ yes, _ ” he finishes. Maybe crushing Rob and Ellen in a game will take his mind off of Jack. It always helps. “Of course.”

 

“Maybe one day Grace will win with Danny like she wins with you.”

 

_ Danny.  _ This makes Grace’s face fall. “No,” she says. “We won’t.”

 

“What?” Will asks, curious. “Why not?”

 

“I’m gonna break up with him.”

 

“Oh, Grace—”

 

_ Finally.  _

 

“It’s just time. Our relationship has reached a fork in the road, and breaking things off is the right…. prong. I have to go, excuse me. Nice seeing you guys.”

 

Will contemplates, seriously and deeply, running after her to say something like:  _ I’m proud of you for realizing that. If you need help, I’m here. God, I hated him— _

 

but Rob and Ellen are staring at Grace’s empty path with shock, so Will offers a joke. “Things that bring the dinner party to a crashing halt?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After they leave, Will calls Jack. Not because he feels guilty; because he needs his friend.

 

“You’ve reached Jack McFarland,” comes the other line, Jack’s voicemail, a singing tone. “You probably don’t want to know what I’m doing right now. Leave a message, sorry.  _ I didn’t really mean to hurt you, I didn’t wanna see you go, I know I made you cry, but baby—” _

 

He ends the call, doesn’t leave a message. What would he say? What could he possibly say?

  
  
  
  


* * *

 

 

When Grace calls to tell him that Danny proposed, he chokes on a crouton. 

 

When Grace says she accepted the proposal, she’s getting  _ married,  _ how  _ great is that,  _ he throws his entire salad into the trash and goes home, expressionless as he leaves the office.

 

Tries Jack’s phone again. Again, again, again. At the sixth attempt, he gives up; it’s ridiculous, he’s not that desperate. He can continue without Jack, he can cope without Jack. He doesn’t  _ need  _ Jack, that’s - ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. 

 

He  _ wants  _ Jack’s presence. That’s different.

 

So: he sits alone, in front of the television as the videos blare. Thinking. Contemplating. Is he going to accept this? Is he going to tell Grace not to marry Danny and risk their relationship? Grace and Danny getting married means Danny is in his life more, means Grace is away more, means—

 

A knock. Thank God.

 

“Hello, hello, let me  _ in. _ ” It’s a very hurried Jack, which - makes Will breathe his relief into the air as he twists the door open. Jack comes through, fast-paced.

 

“You didn’t have to leave me six messages, you know,” says Jack, shutting the door and leaning against it. “You’re so obsessed with me, it’s, wow.”

 

“How did you know it was me? I didn’t even say anything.”

 

“On every message you left, you made this weird… sighing noise.”

 

“So you recognize me by my sighing noises?”

 

A pause; he can’t read Jack’s face. “You know what,” Jack says, his voice a screech now, the way it gets when he is  _ truly  _ upset. “I don’t need this from you. I come over here to make sure you’re okay, and you—”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re—okay. It’s fine.” His voice is normal now, instantly calm. “So what made you call me six times, hm? Trouble in paradise?”

 

“Grace is getting married.”

 

“To Danny?”

 

“Wh— _ yes,  _ to Danny. He proposed when she went to break up with him, and Grace said yes.”

 

Jack moves to sit on his couch, stares it at it with an evil, opposing hatred. “Wait, but you don’t like Danny.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“So tell her that. She’s your best friend, you have to be honest with her.”

 

“I can’t,” Will sighs. “Before my brother got married, he asked me what I honestly thought of Ginny. I told him the truth, that I thought she was rude, controlling, and icy… we don’t talk anymore because of it, and his wife hates me. I don’t want to lose Grace like that.”

 

“Absolutely awful, absolutely awful. Sorry. Do you have any vitamin water?”

 

“Fridge door.”

 

“Can you, um—”

 

“No, get it yourself.”

 

“Maybe later, then. Wanna watch something together? That’ll take your mind off it.”

  
“Sure.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“I’m so excited,” she says. Grace is in her nightgown, red and satin, and Will cannot lose her to Danny. He can’t—he can’t. 

 

Every outcome of this situation involves losing Grace. It feels like something has been torn from him already. He watches Grace sip a mug of hot tea, imagines her as an extension of himself that has been cut out and discarded. Will she discard him? Their relationship is a breath of life, the resurrecting love. 

 

“I’m excited for you,” he says. She shows him the ring, for the seventh time. “Again, beautiful. I just—I need some water. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

 

He feels trapped. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m happy for you, just - thirsty.”

 

“Lying man talking here, everyone.”

 

“I just—”

 

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

 

He swallows. Without thinking, without any caution: “I just… don’t marry him. I don’t think he’s enough for you. You’re passionate, and he doesn’t get that. He’s not funny, he doesn’t know that much about you, even after all this time, and, I mean, I have to be honest, I think you’re so afraid that no one will want to marry you that you’re settling. Don’t settle, Grace. You deserve more than this.”

 

She shakes her head. “You know what, Will? Just - go to hell.”

 

* * *

 

Karen is sitting at her desk, filing her nails, surrounded by three martini glasses, and Will has never felt a fear deeper than this. He’s going to lose Grace. He lost her once, long ago, and he’s going to lose her again, he  _ can’t,  _ he just—

 

“Where’s Grace?” he asks, gasping to catch his breath. Karen only laughs. “I haven’t slept, I can’t get anything done, I need to see her.”

 

“I can’t tell you, Will. It’s a secret.”

 

“What’s a secret?”

 

“That she’s at city hall, getting married. Oh—oops.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Footsteps, behind him, the sound of dragged clicking heels. “Will, you shouldn’t be here.”

 

He turns. Grace. Grace, in a makeshift wedding dress, her makeup staining her face. She’s carrying a wad of tissues. “I’m sorry,” he says, toned into a beg. “Grace, I am so—”

 

“It’s a little late for sorry. I’m not marrying him.”

 

“Wait, what? But you were so excited.”

 

Grace shrugs. “When he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, I panicked. It wasn’t right. He was perfect, and I was fine, until you, my best friend, came along and dropped a a bomb on my head. You poisoned it! You, with the the thorns, from the damn flower, and—I had this metaphor worked out in my head, but—”

 

“I just want you to be happy.”

 

“No, you want me to be alone, just like you.”

 

He can feel his body, his mind and every thought, begin to shut down. “That’s funny,” he manages, “I never thought of myself as being alone.”

 

As he leaves Grace’s office—

 

As he leaves Grace’s office, his vision blurs. He has to work in this condition---maybe, on second thought, that will take his mind away from this tragedy.

 

* * *

 

His fingers hover over the phone. Could he call Jack again? What would that accomplish? It wouldn’t fix anything, it would only produce a temporary numbness, a useless distraction. Why has he suddenly found himself attached to Jack? It can’t be safe—

 

A clicking sound.

 

When he looks up, Grace is staring at him, pitiful. “I’m so sorry for what I said.”

 

“It was mean, but I know. I get it.”

 

“You were right, I guess. It wasn’t—he wasn’t the right person. He loved me, and I loved him. Why couldn’t I make it work?”

 

Will reaches out, takes her hand. He rubs his thumb over hers, reassuring, kind. There are so many meaningful things he could say—- _ Grace, you’ll find someone. Grace, there’s still time. Grace, Danny is that point in the story of your life that creates the rising action; it’s still your story, there’s still an end. _

 

It’s not what either of them need. Instead, he forces a smile. “What’s with that dress?” he asks. 

 

Watching Grace laugh is like studying an angel’s face. “I only had five minutes to prepare for this,” she says, and Will can breathe again, can finally  _ breathe  _ again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. a new lease on life

Will wakes up to a deafening screech.

 

His (stupid,  _ stupid _ ) first inclination: Jack. Something is wrong. There are a plethora of disasters running through his mind; Jack tripped and fell, Jack accidentally cut himself on the bed frame (again), Jack is—so many things could have happened, and they all involve a deep sparked fear in Will’s heart. Disgusting. Why can’t Jack just take care of himself? Why does Jack always have to be so irresponsible and childish?

 

But: Will forces himself onto his feet, ready to scan the apartment for any sign of distress, and—

 

and then Jack enters his room frantically. A very safe and unharmed Jack McFarland. “ _ Damn it, _ ” Jack whispers, “Guapo, I told you to never—” Jack stops, taking in the sight of Will’s entirely unpleasant look. He is  _ not  _ amused, and Jack knows it, Jack  _ understands.  _ He gives Will the look and cower of a guilty child. “Oh, hi. Sorry, if you’ll give me a second, I’m just here to collect my bird. Here, Guapo.”

 

The parrot flies to Jack in a blurred mess of color, rests on his forearm. Will lets out a growl. “ _ Jack. _ ”

 

“Look, I know. I know. I didn’t let him out, he escaped.”

 

“Birds don’t just escape. You had to have had the cage door unlocked.”

 

“...okay, so I  _ might’ve  _ been cleaning it, but—”

 

“Jack, you’re the worst roommate I’ve ever had.”

 

“I take that as a compliment.”

 

Will gives him a smile, soaked in sarcasm and fury. “Yeah, don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry, Will,  _ God. _ ”

 

“If you’re truly sorry,” Will says, raising his voice to a volume similar to the bird screech and pointing to his bedroom door, “you’ll put the bird back in his cage and leave me alone for the rest of the night. Okay?”

 

“You like to order me around a lot, you know.”

 

“Jack.”

 

“Going, going,” Jack says; as he exits Will’s bedroom, he does not cut their eye contact. It feels too intimate, too close, their gazes magnetized and held against one another, like bodies. Intimacy between them is a frightening, apocalyptic idea - Will discards the thought, blinks his eyes when Jack disappears, does not sleep after this.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  
  
  
  


“Grace, you haven’t been looking at apartments,” Will says, reaching up to rub his forehead in exhaustion, “have you?”

 

Her head shakes a bit, up-down, back-forth, and she lunges for the open office `window— “Of course I have,” she says, proceeding to point in every direction, “there’s one, and there’s one, and—”

 

“You need to move out of Danny’s apartment,” Will interrupts. “You know that. You need to be far,  _ far  _ away from Ex-Boyfriend-Land.”

 

“I hate Ex-Boyfriend-Land. Worst country ever.”

 

“My  _ point  _ is that you need a fresh start. You need a new place, Grace.” He pauses, thoughtful. “That rhyme wasn’t intentional.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“I do. ‘Oh, get a new apartment, Grace! I’m Mr. Perfect Apartment, with my perfect view of the park, and perfect balcony, and—” she stops, gasping dramatically,  _ oh no.  _ “Will, oh my God. Why don’t I just move in with you?”

 

_ Absolutely not,  _ he wants to say—almost says it, but reconsiders. This is Grace, not Jack; she’ll be crushed, he needs to handle this situation with care and - and  _ grace,  _ pun completely intended. 

 

Oh: Jack, he thinks, the perfect excuse. He always is.

 

“Um, well, you can’t. I promised Jack he could move in with me, and you know how he is, so.”

 

“Just until his floors are done, though. Oh my God, this is going to be so fun.” Her smile is wide, brightly smooth, and she’s preparing for a rant, he’ll  _ crush  _ her. It’s a bad idea. Will and Grace living together is the worst idea, ever, in the history of bad ideas. Their eccentricities are too prominent. “I love you,” she says, “and you love me—”

 

“Okay, purple dinosaur, let me think about this for a second.” He looks up to the ceiling, back at Grace, really sells the gesture. “No! Not happening. Grace, I love you, but no.”

 

“What?” she asks, folding out her bottom lip, faking her sadness. It’s fake, but it still pulls on his heartstrings. Damn it. “Why not?”

 

“We need our own apartments… we’re adults.”

 

She laughs.

 

“Aren’t we?” he finishes.

 

“So, I just have to grow up and pay bills all of a sudden?”

 

“You’re thirty.”

 

“And?”

 

He sighs, shakes her off. “You’re at work, and I have to go to work, and you, Grace Adler, have to find an apartment.” He reaches to kiss her on the cheek; she allows it, though Will can feel her hesitate. “See you later.”

 

“Go, you big, giant adult.”

 

* * *

 

 

Work is - work. It’s always something; paperwork, mostly, client meetings, boring, phone calls, boring, no Grace, no Jack - boring,  _ boring. _ Will enjoys his job, wholeheartedly, but - boring. It isn’t usually like this.

 

No Grace, no Jack. Not today. It feels - a little bit off, a little underwhelming, slightly empty, faintly vacant, and he can’t seem to put his finger on  _ why.  _ His office with only his own breath as a habitant, and the occasional client. It’s not exciting. Jack and Grace have bright personalities, they light him up - despite the fact that Jack is difficult to deal with, he makes things bearable, provides  _ color  _ to the world, and of course, Grace as the spinning ground beneath his feet. 

 

On his way home, Will picks up two coffees instead of one. Across the street, there is a flower shop; he catches one of the employees staring at his lower body, and it should be flattering. It should be flattering, it really should.

 

* * *

 

He wears Will’s apron, moves around smoothly in Will’s kitchen like he—

 

like—

 

Well; it doesn’t matter. He’s not Will, can never be Will. Jack doesn’t want that, regardless, what an utterly  _ boring  _ life… but sometimes it is nice to pretend that he could be someone who would catch Will’s eye.

 

But that’s not conducive to anything. Pretending to be someone else is  _ not  _ Jack McFarland, who feels no shame, who does not fear the person that he is. Jack does not walk in anyone else’s shoes. Jack McFarland is Jack McFarland, and Jack McFarland removes the longing from his body and does what he does best: sings. His voice radiates through the apartment, echoing in all the right places. He does love the sound of his own resonance as the smell of his food follows in filling the air.

 

_ Oh, it all began with just one little dance… but soon it ended up a big romance— _

 

& the door opens, spitting out a very disordered, disgruntled Will, balancing two coffees and a paper bag. It kills the playful, serene vibe immediately.

 

“Hey,” Jack says, turning off the stove, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “I know it’s a bit late for breakfast food, but look, it’s strawberry, banana nut,  _ and  _ chocolate.”

 

“Wow, that doesn’t sound appetizing at all.”

 

“Okay, what happened? Why are you suddenly Mr. Grumpy? Why can’t you be one of the other six dwarves? I don’t like it.”

 

As Will sits down at the table, Jack bites into his concoction. It barely resembles a pancake, and—it tastes absolutely  _ awful.  _ He silently pours the food into the trash, hopes desperately that Will won’t notice his defeat.

 

“So, Grace—”

 

“Oh, I get it. You two got in a little lovers’ quarrel.”

 

“We did  _ not, _ ” Will says, his fists and shoulders rising in tense. “She asked to move in with me, and I said no, and I may have been a little insensitive.”

 

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, and she’ll end up moving in with you at the end of the day, anyways. I see how it is.” He says it, and: regrets. Jack can’t help himself. He cannot hold his jealousy in, cannot seem the stop the emerald flow of it, out of his body and into the room, like blood from a wound. The wound between them just won’t stop  _ bleeding. _

 

Jack stops himself. That metaphor is a little bit too dramatic, even for him.

 

Anyway: Will raises his hands to his face cautiously, rests his head on his palm. He’s not even going to  _ attempt  _ a defense, is he. “I said no, Jack, did you even hear me?”

 

“Yeah, I heard you.” Jack points an accusing finger. “But I also  _ know  _ you. You always cave for her.”

 

“I—I do  _ not!  _ I have never—how dare you.” And Will sighs, unfurls his body, relaxes. “Okay, sometimes. But I mean it on this. She’s not moving in.”

 

Jack doesn’t believe him, but he has already let his jealousy eat the conversation up; he’s not going to let it escalate anymore, that would be a bad situation, a downfall. “Alright, well… good. She can’t move in while I’m here, anyway.”

 

“Sure.” He removes his coffee cup from the carrier, sips it. It must still be hot, because Will pulls back immediately after tasting it. All he says, however, is: “Oh, yeah, I bought you a coffee.”

 

It’s such a simple move but it lights something in him, sends the burning electricity through his body & he  _ flutters;  _ Will thinking of him in good positions, in positive ways; Will  _ doing things  _ for him, without being asked to. It’s not that it’s unusual - he does this sometimes, but today there is a different energy to it. He’s upset, and: he thought of Jack. He thought of Jack.

 

“Um… wow, thanks,” Jack breathes, picks the cup up and feels its warmth. “You can be a really nice guy, you know, when you want to be.”

 

“When I want to be,” Will repeats.

  
  
  


* * *

-

 

He barges into Grace’s office without putting any thought into his actions; it looks like Grace and Karen are in the middle of an argument, which has Grace holding her hands up to show her innocence and Karen pointing at her with the rest of her fingers rolled tightly into a fist, her knuckles white and drained.

 

“I’ll figure out how to fax when I feel—oh.” Karen turns to him, shoots him a distressed. “Hello, Wilma. Maybe  _ you  _ can help Grace.”

 

“ _ You’re  _ my assistant.”

 

“And I love it, honey, I really do.”

 

Grace sighs; he can see her entertain the idea of continuing to harrass Karen over her work (or lack thereof), and he can also see her toss it aside. All three of them know it’s not going to change, and Will can also  _ sense  _ it - the softness that some part of Karen has for Grace. And vice versa, as much as Grace doesn’t want to admit it. Even if Karen is wicked in Will’s eyes, Grace has a genuine care for her, and it’s almost—

 

It’s interesting.

 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Will says, forcing the situation away. “I brought you the apartment ads.”

 

“I already have them,” Grace dismisses, reaching for a roll of bright yellow fabric. 

 

“Yeah, but I know you haven’t looked at them, and I had a little extra time today, so, I thought we could look for one together.”

 

Grace shrugs as Will hands her one side of the paper, keeping a firm grasp on the other. “Okay.” She traces her finger across several of the ads, humming  _ hmm, no, nope  _ every other minute. It’s driving Will crazy. Everything about today is driving Will crazy.

 

“What about this one?” he asks, pointing to a random spot on the page. “‘Charming one bedroom, Chelsea adjacent, well-maintained, $1,500.’ I think that sounds great.”

 

“Okay. I’ll translate for you. ‘Charming’ equals tiny, and ‘well-maintained’ means they wash blood off the sidewalk daily.”

 

“Grace, come on. I’m trying to help you here.”

 

She sighs, drawing her breath out dramatically. “Okay. Alright, okay… oh, look at this one.” She taps her finger repeatedly on one fixed spot. “It’s perfect! Upper West Side. Spacious 2-bedroom, 2-bath, fireplace—”

 

“This is great—”

 

“—terrace, beautifully decorated by talented woman who hates looking for apartments, gay best friend included—”

 

“ _ Grace.  _ You’re not moving in with me.”

 

“Why not? What’s the big deal?”

 

Will opens his mouth, but: he doesn’t actually  _ know  _ what the ‘big deal’ is. There is no underlying reason for this stance—he just doesn’t  _ feel  _ comfortable with it. He never feels comfortable with anything, nowadays - he ignores it. It is a recent phenomenon; he cannot pinpoint an exact moment, but when he deepens the search, he thinks it started when he shared the bed with Ja—

 

He ignores it.

 

“Because…” He shakes his head. “You just… you know it’s a bad idea.”

 

“How would I know that?”

 

“Fine, let’s go over the reasons why you shouldn’t,” he says, the words poking out unintentional. “Reason one: you just got out of a relationship.”

 

“Okay. Reason number one why I  _ should -  _ to stop you from sounding stupid when you try to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t move in with you. I mean, at least be more convincing.”

 

“Look, I’d just be a crutch for you.”

 

For a moment, Grace looks hurt. Or: he imagines that she looks hurt; he can’t truly tell.

 

“So? Be my crutch. We don’t care, we’re - us.”

 

“No, no. Trust me, this is going to be good for you.”

 

“ _ How? _ I'll be in a crappy apartment somewhere alone, sitting around reading a human interest story about… I don't know, a kitty with no hind legs, who pulls herself around on a cart. Then I'll be sad because I'm alone and kind of wounded, and I'll identify with the kitty. I am that kitty.”

 

“You’re not that kitty. You can do this.”

 

Grace stops for a moment, straightens her posture. “You know what, yeah. I can do this.”

 

“There you go.”

 

“I  _ should  _ do this.”

 

“Oh, look at you,” he says. “I’m so proud. Hey, I have to go.” Will smiles at her. “Lunch tomorrow?”

 

“Of course,” responds Grace, and he leaves the office with an unbearable feeling of discomfort that he just  _ can’t  _ explain.

 

* * *

 

Reluctantly, he hands Jack the twenty dollars he had  _ begged  _ for, sits down at a nearby table, and mentally lectures himself for letting Jack accompany him to his lunch with Grace. Jack is - he follows Will around like a dumb puppy, sometimes, and it is both endearing and  _ incredibly  _ strenuous. Lately, however, it has been Will’s fault for giving in. Since the day that they—

 

His eyes glass over, blurring as he watches Jack flirt shamelessly with the person taking his order, his weight shifting on his legs, his elbows resting on the counter & his knuckles against his temples, his fingers tapping on skin. The cashier seems to be reciprocating it, too, which - makes Will feel nauseous. Does he have to be this promiscuous at  _ every  _ possible moment? Does he have to flirt with everyone he meets? Why does he feel a need to do this  _ all the time?  _

 

Psychoanalyzing Jack would be awful, on second thought, so he drops the question. Jack’s mind is a mind that Will does not want to probe & he can’t tell if that is out of fear or annoyance. It’s just - easier, to ignore it.

 

* * *

 

A fragment of him actually feels  _ bad  _ for begging Will to give him money. It’s a very new feeling; he wants to remove it surgically, wants to never feel it again. Jack McFarland is shameless, in everything he does. It makes no sense.

 

$20 is just $20. It’s not like he asked Will for $2000, he reconciles, that would be ridiculous.

 

The cashier is cute. Extremely cute - hair the darkest shade of black, light green eyes. Jack can forget about Will for a moment, losing himself in - he checks the name tag - David. So: he moves his body openly, adopting a suggestive stance, doesn’t try to hide his stare.

 

“Hello,” Jack says. “I’d like one black coffee, a caramel latte, a crossaint, and a side of you.”

 

David looks flustered, his eyelashes fluttering & his shoulders shrugging. “I can get you three of those things,” he says, but Jack can tell - he’s into it. He’s  _ very  _ into it. Jack can use touching and flirting to forget about Will, it is his longest coping mechanism. It works temporarily, but: it works.

 

“You sure?”

  
  


“For now,” says David, and when Jack gets his receipt, there is a phone number written on the bottom.

 

* * *

 

“I got you a coffee,” Jack says, and Will tries not to draw parallels. “Black, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Will says, taking it from him while trying to wash away his shock. Jack usually only thinks of himself, takes Will’s money (that he continues to give, for some reason, his softness—) selfishly, but: today seems different. It is a small, meaningless gesture that still sends Will’s mind into a fit of confusion.

 

When Will had bought  _ Jack’s  _ coffee, it was entirely impulsive. Jack had left a print on his mind. He always seems to be on Will’s mind, lately. He almost didn’t  _ notice  _ when he came home with two instead of one, and his brain only registered  _ Jack  _ when he walked into his apartment and saw Jack in his apron making food. Jack looked like him, for a moment, he remembers, and it was  _ terrifying— _

 

Why is it so hard for Will to understand Jack? He admires Jack, loves him deeply, but there is a dire lack of understanding between them—again, from earlier:  _  Jack’s mind is a mind that Will does not want to probe.  _ He wants to understand Jack, and supposes that after knowing him for so many years that he does, in a way, understand Jack’s twists and turns, his ticks and his gears. The one thing that he just  _ doesn’t  _ understand, however: the motivation. What  _ motivates  _ him? It couldn’t be that Jack is still—

 

Could it?

 

He entertains the idea for a moment. No. Jack doesn’t have those feelings anymore, he makes that  _ very  _ apparent.

 

Grace enters as Jack sits down, and Will feels grateful. He can ignore it.

 

“I see Jack is here,” she says. 

 

“Wait, you mean other people can see me?” Jack laughs. “I thought I was invisible.”

 

She glares at him. “I’ll be right back,” she says, walking up to the counter.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Will can’t bring himself to look at Jack, or even in Jack’s direction, as he waits for Grace. It is a sudden hit of ache—he is just too much to handle, too much to take in. Will is overwhelmed. Why is Will overwhelmed? This is Jack, his best friend, they  _ love  _ each other. They think fondly of one another, most of the time, their relationship a healing effect. He should be able to look at Jack and feel safe. 

 

Instead he focuses on Grace, and yearns for her return. He closes his eyes, and thinks of a time where this budding situation did not exist.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Grace says, biting into her bagel. “I have news.”

 

Jack  _ hopes  _ that it’s something freeing, and not something that will tear him away from Will even further. He looks over at Will - his eyes are fixed permanently on the shine of the table with no expression. He won’t even look at Jack. Or Grace, which is surprising. He’s just - sitting there.

 

“Hey.” Grace grabs Will’s arm and shakes it. “Are you listening? I said I have good news.”

 

This pulls Will back into reality. (This, and not—)

 

“That’s good!” Will says, blinking quickly. “What… is it?”

 

“I found my new apartment,” she finishes excitedly, and Jack breathes a deep sigh of relief. “It’s in Brooklyn Heights. Will, we should go check it out after we’re done here.”

 

_ Oh, so he doesn’t exist again.  _ Big surprise. He hasn’t been pushed aside like this before, never, never ever in the absolute history of the  _ universe  _ has he been ignored like this.

 

The sarcasm deepens the pain. This always happens, Grace is always favored more, that’s just how it is. Why can’t he accept that? Will’s eyes shift over to Jack, finally, an objective look of - of - of  _ guilt.  _ His face reads unbearable guilt. Will Truman looks at Jack and feels  _ guilty.  _ The feeling is quite evident, Jack knows, he can feel the knowledge flowing throughout his veins. He knows. He just knows. He knows Will, and he knows Will’s feelings.

 

But Grace always wins.

 

“Sounds great,” Will says, “wait—hey—did you say Brooklyn?”

 

“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s beautiful. I think you’ll really like it.”

 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful, but. Brooklyn, Grace? I mean, really?”

 

Her smile is barely visible, but present. “I know. We can get used to it.”

 

_ We can get used to it,  _ Jack thinks, and remains quiet, ghosting for the rest of the hour. He obviously isn’t wanted here. 

 

( _ If that’s the case, then why did Will let him come? It’s not like he  _ begged.)

 

* * *

 

_ We can get used to it,  _ Will thinks, in panic; she can’t live here, cannot exist so far away. He needs her. Will  _ needs  _ Grace. Their relationship is rooted in closeness, formed from love. This isn’t - this isn’t -  _ healthy.  _ It’s not healthy for them to be apart.

 

He can be her crutch. She can be his. Nothing would change.

 

The apartment is—nice, he supposes. For Brooklyn.

 

“So, what do you think?” Grace asks. She’s beaming.

 

“I think that…. we’re in Brooklyn.”

 

Her shoulders fall. “You hate it, don’t you? Oh my God.”

 

“I don’t, it’s just - you have an apartment! Of your very own. That’s great!”

 

“I know.” Grace’s laughter is always angelic, always beautiful, like her. “We need to celebrate.”

 

Will can feel himself sink; he needs  _ out.  _ He needs to deal with this. He needs to find a way to cope. It’s not a big deal, but: it is. He needs to process this, and he can’t do it in the crime scene.  “Let’s do it later,” he says. “I have to meet a client soon. I better get to work.”

 

“Oh,” she says, dejected. “Well - okay. Call me.”

 

“Of course.” As he leaves, he coughs up a barely convincing  _ I’m happy for you, Grace. _

 

* * *

 

Jack gets home late. Uncomfortably late. Will doesn’t want to imagine what he was doing—his hair is slightly disheveled, his shirt open to the third button, so it’s  _ obvious.  _ Jack does this all the time. Will’s usual response is casual. He doesn’t mind, as long as Jack doesn’t go into detail.

 

Right now he feels - a deep unease; something in his stomach even begins to hurt and pang. Seeing Jack like this elicits a forbidden feeling that Will

 

just

 

can’t

 

ignore.

 

This will make kicking him out easier.

 

“Have fun?” he asks, unsteady.

 

“I mean, sure, but he was—wait, you don’t know what I was doing.”

 

“I’m making an educated guess,” Will says. He swallows. “Jack, I’m sorry, but I—”

 

He must be picking up on the unaware ache inside of Will, because he gasps, holding his hand over his mouth. “What did you do to Guapo? Is he gone?” He whistles. “Pretty bird, pretty—”

 

“Guapo is fine. I just—”

 

And his hand lowers, slightly, shaking. Jack’s face screams with betrayal & Will feels  _ awful.  _ He’s a bad friend, he’s—

 

“Oh, I get it,” Jack says,  “you’re kicking me out again.”

 

Will shrugs. “It’s not like that. I’m asking Grace to move in with me.”

 

“I knew it,” Jack shrieks. “I knew it! I told you that you’d cave and you didn’t believe me.”

 

_ He’s always right,  _ Will thinks, and shoots the thought in the leg immediately. Gross. Absolutely disgusting. He’s never right.

 

Except when it comes to Will apparently. No.

 

“I think I did, deep down. It’s just—she’s too far away. I can’t handle that. She’s a part of my daily life, what would I do without her? I thought it would be good for her, but it’s not good for me.”

 

“You know, your dysfunctional relationship hurts the  _ other  _ people who care about you. Ever consider that, Will?”

 

“You can stay with your mother,” Will offers. He’s not surprised at all when Jack shrieks, again, causing a ringing in his ears.

 

Why. Why is his life like this.

 

“That’s some kind of sick joke. It has to be. You really think I—”

 

“Okay, well, maybe you can—”

 

“No. I don’t need this. I’m a survivor. I can take care of myself.”

 

A pause.

 

“So, you’ll be at your mom’s?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says softly, and storms into the back bedroom, leaving Will in a tangled mixture of emotion. On one hand - it is kind of sadistically funny, seeing Jack’s melodramatic, intense behavior. He’s never entirely sure if it’s theatrical or genuine. On the other hand - guilt, for kicking out Jack.

 

He  _ needs  _ Grace, he tells himself, and it’s true. He needs Grace like he needs breath.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, he should have expected this. Will always does this,  _ always  _ prioritizes Grace above him, and in a way he gets it—Will knew Grace before he knew Jack, Grace was  _ the one  _ and he’s never going to hold the same ground. He needs to accept that, needs to understand it and  _ move on. _

 

Move on. He needs to move on.

 

He will. Right after he tells Grace not to move in with Will. The impulsive bike ride to Grace’s office has cost him half an hour &  a bruised knee after crashing into a brick wall upon seeing a shirtless jogger—there’s no turning back now.

 

He bursts through the door, breaths fast and hard. “Grace,” he says, coughing. “You’re making a huge mistake—”

 

“She’s not here, honey.” A harsh, high-pitched voice. “You just missed her.”

 

After scanning the room, he turns. “Oh,” he says, taking in the astonishing sight of the woman next to him, sitting at a desk and polishing her fingernails. “Are you Karen?”

 

“Yes… who are you?”

 

“You’re just - fabulous! I can’t believe it. I’m Jack, by the way.”

 

“Thank you.” Karen’s eyes shift to the ceiling and focus back on him like she’s had an epiphany. “Oh! You’re Will’s Jack. We’ve talked on the phone a million times, how have we never met?”

 

_ Will’s Jack.  _ The words hit hard. The words send a violent pounding into his head, throughout his entire body. _ Will’s Jack. Will’s Jack. Will’s Jack.  _ She means it innocently, he knows, and not in the desired way, but he cannot stop himself, he daydreams—

 

_ Move on.  _

 

“I don’t know, but I am  _ loving  _ your look,” he says, bouncing back. “You’re a rocketship.”

 

“Oh, get out of here, you… strange person.” She’s cracking into a laugh, pulling off her sweater. “Anyway, why are you here? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

 

“Grace is moving.”

 

“I know. That’s why she’s not here.”

 

“No, she’s moving in with Will.”

 

They both gasp, in unison. “She can’t,” Karen says. “She—”

 

“Tell me about it,” Jack says. He rests against the table. “Looks like I’m too late, though.”

 

“Oh  _ no, _ that’s awful. How about you stay with me for the day? I don’t have anything to do.”

 

Thinking that  _ Jack  _ could stop the union of Will and Grace was an utterly idiotic idea, so he nods, and ignores every thought of Will. Ignoring is a habit he must develop to survive.

 

* * *

 

He almost trips, walking into Grace’s apartment, but the light on her face saves him; he’s nearly buzzing with excitement, knows that Grace will be too when he shares the news.

 

“Oh my God, hi,” Grace says, smiling. 

 

“I just got threatened when I was walking up here by a half-naked fifty year old man holding a rolled up newspaper.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” she says, tapping her fingers on the nearby mantle. “How’d you get up here, anyway? Didn’t you have to buzz in?”

 

“Three dollars,” he responds, winking awkwardly. “Hey, I have good news.”

 

_ I have good news, _ he thinks. Something about this situation is eerily familiar. When Ja—

 

He ignores it. 

 

“Uh-huh,” says Grace, absentmindedly eyeing a mirror that’s leaning against her refridgerator. “Can you help me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She picks the mirror up, holds it against the wall. “Does it look good here?”

 

“Eh. Over.”

 

She takes two steps to the left.

 

“No, no. Over a little bit more.”

 

“Um, I’m going out the door.”

 

“Trust me,” Will says, entirely gentle. “Take it out the door, down the elevator, and  _ all  _ the way to my apartment because you’re moving in with me.”

 

For a moment he thinks she’s going to drop the mirror; she lowers it, instead, blinks, her hair bouncing backwards. “You—you are not doing this,” Grace says. “You talked me into living on my own. You said you’d be a crutch.”

 

“A crutch is support. We both just got out of relationships, we need each other. We’re born for this, what’s the problem?”

 

“The problem is—”

 

Grace stops, considers his statement, her lips curling slightly to one side. He’s inside her mind, watching her work this out in her head.  _ What’s the problem? _

 

“There isn’t one, I guess. I mean, aside from the fact that I already packed everything up and overpaid movers to bring it all here.”

 

He touches her shoulder, strange comfort. “I’m strong, I—”

 

She chuckles.

 

“ _ I am  _ strong,” he finishes. “I can help you with the boxes. What do you say?”

 

Grace takes his hand, shakes it. “I think… I’m moving in with you.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feedback is majorly, MAJORLY appreciated. please leave a comment if you can, i thrive on them!!


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